


Haryc b'aalyc

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, I don't think anything in here is too touchy but it doesnt hurt to warn, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Watching the Sunrise, basically fenn rau attempting to calm an angry drunk barn owl, questionable handling of potential panic attacks I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Bo-Katan had no love for cheerful songs, anyways. Not anymore. Songs were for people who had friends besides the bottle and the stim-shot, and those who had enemies who could be counted on one hand, and slain at a stroke. She hadn't been either for some time.





	Haryc b'aalyc

**Author's Note:**

> I'd wanted to write something like this for a while, ever since "Heroes of Mandalore" aired.  
> While Bo-Katan's eventual acceptance of her new and long-overdue position as monarch was great, I still feel she must have a lot of baggage to unpack and issues to work through, and deserves someone she can trust to help her do that. 
> 
> Also look up 'angry barn owl' on youtube to understand why I put that in the tags.

Bo-Katan let her eyes flicker half-shut as she listened to the sounds of the night.

There were only a few other people still awake at this late hour. Faintly, she could hear laughing, and singing, too - discordant voices belting out some jolly tune she could barely recognize, the words slurred by alcohol and distance, and the many inches of beskar-reinforced ship hull between her and the outside world.

Bo-Katan had no love for cheerful songs, anyways. Not anymore. Songs were for people who had friends besides the bottle and the stim-shot, and those who had enemies who could be counted on one hand, and slain at a stroke. She hadn't been either for some time.

Absently, she took a last swallow of bitter, dreg-heavy black beer from the bottle, and regretted it immediately. It was more sludge than actual liquid, tasted like tar and probably looked like it too. Grimacing, she spat it out, and threw the now-empty bottle across the hold. The light metal bottle bounced against the beskar-plated wall, clattering satisfyingly loudly against the deckplate as it fell.

She spat out the last of the ale dregs that were still stuck to her tongue, muttering a curse on whoever made such a lousy brew, and then dared to even bring it to her as a gift. It was petty, but it felt good, at least for the time being.

Heaving a sigh, she slouched further down the bulkhead. Three days. Three days since her accession, and there was no sign yet of the party stopping. For the sake of tradition, it'd be at least another four days until they could even consider going back on the warpath.

Bo-Katan had wanted more than anything else to get back to the front lines, to lose herself in the business of war again. However, the new, mostly self-proclaimed 'High Council of Chieftains' were united in their determination to revive the old custom, regardless of how _shab'la_ impractical it was - after all, it wasn't every day a _Mand'alor_ was proclaimed. They had to start off on the right note.

"If a _Mand'alor_ is now truly returned to the throne of holy _Manda'yaim_ , then they must be properly honored in the traditional manner - to the best of our efforts," Iz' Reau had said, her grand manner being somewhat at odds with the twisted and blackened metal scraps she and the others had appropriated as temporary chieftains' thrones.

Bo-Katan spat. Honoring her - not leaving her an inch of space even to breathe while they tried to gain favor with their new overlord was more like it, smothering with empty praise and congratulations, fawning over her bravery and noble heart.

Perhaps she had fought for decades to see a Mandalore free and restored, but that hardly made her any different from the rest of them. She hadn't destroyed the hateful superweapon, or broken Alrich out of his chains, or killed Gar Saxon or his pathetic _dar'manda_ of a brother. What had she done, besides stand next to a girl who'd done all those things, but who couldn't stomach the role of Mand'alor any more than she could?

Bo-Katan might have accepted the Darksaber, but the Wren girl deserved it more.

The weapon itself now hung heavily at her side, the sharp-edged emitter guard dragging along the floor whenever she moved, gouging claw-marks in the deck plate.

She'd had to remove one of her pistols to make room for it, at least until she could find a better way of carrying it with her. Her fingers were unused to gripping a sabre hilt in place of the handle and trigger of a blaster, and fumbled every time she'd tried drawing it from the temporary scabbard. She'd even nearly dropped it a few times, ignited and in front of hundreds of people at that.

It had been that way from the moment she'd laid a hand on the ancient weapon. Ill-fitting, awkward.

Wrong...

She shook her head, as if she could shake the doubts hanging over her head away like a strill shaking water off its hide. Obviously if she could still worry about holding a damn sword, she wasn't nearly gone enough.

Bo-Katan took another pull off the bottle, draining it and letting it drop from her hand, rolling off to wherever it may. Reaching for another, she mechanically popped the top open.

Drinking alone in a grounded ship maybe wasn't the best way to cope with the thorn-forest tangle of her thoughts. But she was _Mand'alor_ now, and there was really nobody who could stop her from doing this. Least of all that oh-so-powerful High Council, who were now all either asleep or drunken beyond all sense at this hour.

All that talk of duty to their honoured monarch, she thought bitterly, and they hadn't even noticed her stagger off to the fringes of the camp, alone and unguarded, hours ago.

Bo-Katan cracked open another bottle. The "pop!" of the broken seal echoed through the still air for a moment, before dying away. She frowned a little as the noise faded. For all she'd wanted to get away from the endless empty chatter of the clan chiefs and their fawning warriors, the dead silence of the ship wasn't much better. It was actually starting to unsettle her a bit.

For all that she wasn't keen on songs these days, she found that she hated silence more.  

Silence made it too easy for her to think. Not the kind of thinking she did when coordinating attacks with her lieutenants or plotting hyperspace paths that took her outside Imperial-patrolled routes. No, silence only encouraged the kind of thinking that stirred up darker thoughts, the ones that now rose up like deep-sea monsters from the black corners of her mind, slithered down her spine and wrapped around her nerves, seized up her body until she shook like a dry leaf in a Krownest winter gale. Silence only made it easier to hear the damn things roaring in her ears louder and louder, and then louder still until it made her want to roar right back at them.

Or at least, made her want to just drown all her thoughts in a blissful tide of ale and _tihaar_ and whatever else she could get down her neck until she collapsed into a blissful darkness where she couldn't feel or think anything at all.

Speaking of.

She took a sip from the newly-opened bottle, which was a mistake. The first foaming mouthful went down bad, and she coughed, grimacing at the taste. Most of what she'd drunk this night was foul, but this tasted straight up rotten. She tried to swallow, if only to stop herself from retching, and found that she couldn't.

Her gorget armour suddenly felt tightly locked around her neck, threatening to choke her, as a lump of ice seemed to grow in her throat. She made to knock back another mouthful, to try and wash away the cold, strangled feeling.  

 _Choke me and I'll drown you, chakaaryc,_ she thought angrily, just as the the black things on the corner of her mind started to screech the same litany of fear and doubt in her ears. She winced as they climbed to a crescendo, a grating squeal like shearing metal, battered gears and stiff hydraulics and - wait.

That sound hadn't come from inside her head. It had come from outside. Someone was hauling the ramp down. Before she could see how fast it was lowering, it hit the sandy soil of Mandalore with a dull thud, and a single massive figure in heavy armour stood at the bottom, silhouetted in the moonlight.

Her heart raced. She had fought her way out of ambushes alone before, even managed it more than a few times unarmed. She had the Darksabre now, but she could barely hold on to the damn thing while sober, and she was currently drunker than a freighter-flyboy on pay night.

For lack of any other viable option, she flung the half-full bottle in her hand at the intruder. It went wide, bounced off the wall and rolled down the newly-lowered ramp, spilling oily black beer across the deck plate as it clattered away. The stranger didn't even flinch, simply sidestepped wayward bottle as it rolled out onto the sand.

"Lady Kryze?"

For all they were standing only a few yards off, whoever it was sounded about a thousand miles away, voice indistinct and buried under the roaring in her ears. They strode up the ramp, their shadow pouring night-black and intimidating across the floor of the hold, threatening to swallow her half-crouched form.

"No," Bo-Katan groaned, "G-go'way."

Her own voice sounded so small, so shaky, so pathetic to her - like the voice of a certain little girl, one whose hiding place had been found by the same bad men who'd taken _jagyc'buir_ \- but now there was no time to remember her. She had to get away, and fast. There was still time, and plenty of space between the stranger and the ramp opening. She could still make a break for it.

Bo-Katan scrambled to her feet just in time for all of Mandalore and maybe the galaxy itself to tip over on its axis. The deck and the ceiling of the hold to decided to switch places, and her legs were not up to the task of keeping her standing, let alone drive her body forward in anything like the _jetii_ -level-reflex sprint she'd envisioned doing. She stumbled, staggered, then braced to hit the floor, or the ceiling, or the wall or whatever surface that falling in direction of 'down' would make her hit.

Instead, she fell into a beskar-plated embrace, her face mashed against a chest plate and her eyes squinting against the glare of a bright blue power cell.  

Something had caught her. Some- _one_ had caught her.

Panic-adrenaline surged across her body, shocking her alcohol-sodden muscles into action. Blindly, she started punching or kicking at anything she could reach on the stranger, desperately trying to connect a hit, to little effect. A scream fought its way up her half-paralyzed throat, and was cut off when a hand clapped over her mouth. On instinct, she bit into the palm that now pressed into her teeth. It was a move that had won her many bare-knuckle matches in the _Kyr'tsad_ days, but now she only managed a mouthful of ironweave and beskar grip-studs.

"Don't bite down any harder if you want to keep all your teeth, now," a male voice hissed, "'I'm not here to cause you more hurt than you seem to want to do yourself."

Bo-Katan stopped struggling. She knew that voice.

Opening her eyes - when had she clenched them shut? - the face of Fenn Rau materialized before her, looking concerned, a bit flushed, and clearly struggling to keep her from driving one of her armoured shoulders into his jaw. Her mind was suddenly awash in questions - why he was here, why he was doing this? Her voice was still nowhere to be found, though, choked fast in her throat by an invisible icy grip.

Gradually, she relaxed in Fenn's arms; as he slowly, carefully lowered her to the deck, siting her up with her back against the bulkhead. Only when he felt the tension leave her body, and her breathing return to something like normal did he let up his hold.

When he did, he pulled away rather sharply, like he'd regretted taking the course of action that had just stopped her from face planting into a metal floor. Whether it was at having to let go of her, or that he'd basically held her down against her will, Bo-Katan wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about anything at all at that moment.

"Sorry," he sounded more than a little sheepish, "I had to stop you from screaming half the planet awake, and getting the wrong idea. I won't do it again."

"S'fine," she murmured, suddenly remembering how to speak.

"What you did was…strange," she paused, "but I think I needed that, more than I knew how to ask for it. How'd you even think to do that? Not let me thrash around or run screaming out the door, I mean."

Fenn sighed, as he sat down next to her.

"One of the flyers on Dawn, their _buir_ used to raise _jaig'alaar_ and convorees - night-hunters mostly. Said that when they were hurt or scared or in pain, the best thing to do was hold them still. It kept them from struggling and hurting themselves more. We found it worked pretty well for a panicky Mando'ade, too," he held up one gauntleted hand, studying the palm. There was a neat imprint of her teeth there, gradually fading in the flexible material. He cast a long-suffering kind of sidelong look at her.

"Not sure which one bites and screeches less, though."

"Well, sorry," she muttered sarcastically, "don't know about you, but it is a bit hard not to scream when a strange person grabs you in a dark space."

Fenn scoffed, seeming offended.

"Hey now, I'm hardly a stranger-"

"What are you even doing here, Fenn?" she sighed, cutting him off. "How'd you even find me?"

"You may be the _ca'senaar_ , but you aren't so stealthy that I didn't notice you running like you were being hunted," he chuckled. "it was just a matter of following your bootprints. And listening for the bottles being thrown."

"As for why _I'm_ here, I could ask you the same. Slinking off with not even a word to anyone, not even your Chief Protector about where you'd gone," he shook his head, "that was dangerous, Mand'alor or no. Not to mention a bit rude."

"I don't think I gave you permission to follow me, or lecture me about proper behaviour," she hissed. "Didn't you just swear an oath about that or something?"

Fenn seemed entirely unfazed by the annoyance in her voice.

"As Chief protector, my orders are never to leave the Mand'alor's side unless ordered to by the sovereign themselves," Fenn continued. He stretched his legs out, and kicked a few more bottles out of the way as he did, frowning when he saw how many there were. Bo-Katan felt her face flush with shame, despite herself.

"So long as it does not appear the orders of a rattle-brained recluse who shouldn't be left alone in case she drinks herself into a death-coma at her own accession party."

Bo-Katan rolled her eyes, now silently hoping half-seriously for an Imperial orbital strike to end her reign prematurely. If Fenn was trying to be noble and get him on her good side by intervening for her own good, he had another thing coming. At least, now that the eyes of the clan chiefs weren't all on them, he was dropping the deferential language and speaking to her like a common _verd_ , and not like the absolute monarch she'd been for all of three days. He picked up one of the nearer bottles, turning it over in his hands. He snorted in derision at the clan sigil stamped into the side.

"Figures. You won't get _bat'nor_ on _net'ra_ , or on anything else here. Ursa knew the kids were going to steal a few pints during all the celebrations, so she had the booze watered down to spare them the hangover when the week's up." 

Bo-Katan grumbled under her breath at her old friend and her mother-nuna meddling. Still, she wasn't too keen on experiencing the effects of a mind-reading, brain-warping _jettii_ getting drunk, least of all one as powerful or as unhinged as the Lothali kid supposedly was. 

"Not that it was going to do much for me, I can't stand this brew," Fenn sighed. "Barely managed to keep a few pints down out of politeness. Those Preist-Reau's couldn't brew good _net'ra_ if their lives depended on it - stuff might be half-raw and all poison. It wouldn't get you drunk now, so much as violent-sick the next morning," he flung the bottle clean out of the hold. It landed with a hollow, muffled sound in the sand.  

"Here," Fenn reached into a holster on his side, and fished a small, dull metal flask out of his thigh pocket. He held it out to her.

"A splash of this ought to wash out the taste, if you want. Maybe take away the sick feeling."

Warily, Bo-katan accepted the flask, and took a sip. She'd been expecting some kind of strong liquor but to her surprise, it was water. Icy cold and wonderfully sweet after the foul bitterness of the beer, she downed the whole thing in moments. It was probably rude not to ask him if he wanted any, or even to say thanks, but Fenn didn't seem to notice.

"Werda Icemelt, that is - best there is in the whole of Mando space. Nothing clearer, nothing sweeter," he said, as he watched her drain the last of the flask before handing it back.

He was right - she didn't feel as ill now, at least.

"Now, you mind telling me what brought all this on?"

Right. His pesky ulterior motive of getting to the bottom of why she'd just had a panic episode in front of him and was surrounded by bottles. There were at least four empties scattered around her now alone - maybe more had rolled into the corners beyond her sight. She hadn't exactly been keeping count. Still, she tried to feign ignorance.

"What's to talk about? I was drunk and scared, you were suddenly there, you gave me a shock but now I'm fine," she muttered, eyes downcast to the deck plate under her boots. It was suddenly very hard to look Fenn in the eyes. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

"Let me try agin. How about you tell me why you up and abandoned your own accession party, didn't tell the one person who swore an oath on their life to keep you alive, and then tried to drink yourself into coma."

Bo-Katan snorted.

"What, your marching orders to give sober-up talks to drunks, now?"

Fenn was undeterred.

"I was thinking that maybe you could see this more as…well, as a fellow _verd_ concerned with your mental wellbeing. Might do you some good to talk to another, open-like and without all the rules-and-regs of it being sovereign to subject," he added.

Bo gave him a skeptical look. Fenn shrugged.

"Can't be worse than drinking lousy ale alone in a ship's hold," he said. "Come on, Bo-Katan. I know something is eating at your insides, otherwise you wouldn't be trying to drown it in booze."

"I'm not sure if you'd understand if I told you, anyways," she muttered. She tried to shuffle away from Fenn, only to find herself blocked by the corner of the hold at her side.

"I think I might. I know the look of a leader who thinks they've got nowhere to turn when they start doubting themselves."

Bo-Katan froze.

She turned, glaring at him with a look that decades ago had made anti- _Kyr'tsad_ warriors surrender on the spot. Fenn, annoyingly, didn't react at all. There wasn't any malice, amusement, or judgement in his own look.

"Not that I make a point of putting words in people's mouths, but I take it you're feeling that agreeing to become our Mand'alor wasn't the smartest choice, was it."

Bo-Katan had been on the run more than long enough to know when she was trapped.

Her mind scrambled for a response, and only came up with a tactical surrender. The sooner she owned up to her weakness, the sooner he might give her up for lost and leave her alone. Or maybe he'd just kill her, and get a more suitable _Mand'alor_ proclaimed.

Fenn was a merciful sort of man, after all. Bo-Katan sighed in defeat.

"When Sabine held the sabre out to me," she began, "I did not even think of refusing. I thought after everything that had happened, when I finally held it, I'd feel some confidence in what we were about to do. But…"

She trailed off. She hadn't exactly expected fireworks, a chorus of warriors' spirits roaring her praise down from the stars, the voice of Mand'alor the First speaking a ruler's wisdom to her and her alone. Joy, pride, awe; those were what she'd expected to feel when she'd ignited the blazing black sword for the first time, and held it high before the sea of kneeling warriors.

She hadn't expected the dread, or the shame, or the fear.

"I'm guessing you didn't feel much in the way of triumph." Fenn finished for her.

"Fenn, from that moment I felt nothing but doubt for this whole rebellion," her voice came out quiet and small. 

"You- You think that we can't fight the Empire?" Fenn sounded truly shocked. "With respect, I'm not sure where you've been these past few days, but look at what we just did with just a handful of _verda_! If you think we can't at least win a few skir-"

"Fenn, you don't understand!" she cut him off. He fell quiet immediately.

"So many clans besides the Kryze have already *been* fighting the Empire for years. I tried to challenge them, and I lost my throne and half my clan for my "bravery". Fenn, there is no fight, no winning against this enemy, there is only surviving long enough to keep running. Putting the Darksabre in my hand won't change any of that. If anything, it just puts even more of us in danger!"

"How so?"

Bo-Katan felt tears starting to blur her vision, and she furiously blinked them back before any fell. It was bad enough for Fenn to know she was a drunk and a coward, he didn't have to see her cry, too.

"If *I* had died before - been killed by one of Saxon's _ramikade_ , or been bagged by some bounty hunter in the Empire's pocket, jailed, murdered, executed, spaced in a boarding - I know what would happen. My clan would mourn me, avenge me, elect a new chieftain, and then keep on fighting and surviving."

"But now…this," she lightly ran a fingertip along the Darksabre's hilt. The ancient blade felt cold, somehow, even through her gauntlet.

"This no longer means bringing together all the Mando'ade who wish to fight the Empire. It means that if I fail, I could take all of them down with me. It could mean the end of a free Mandalore as we know it," she let her hand slide limply off the hilt, hitting the deck plate with a dull clank.  

"And I cannot lead us into a war, knowing now what's at stake if we lose.

She let her gaze fall back to the floor. 

"If *I* lose."

She felt too ashamed to even meet the Protector's eyes anymore. Yet Fenn made no move to get up and leave, though he stayed silent for long moments. It was almost a shock when he spoke up again.  

"I know what it is to feel like you've gone too far," he began, "even before the massacre on Dawn, I knew the feeling. When the stakes of the game seem like they've been raised too high, and you want nothing more than to fold, to back out, to quit, because you don't think you can survive, let alone win. Yet you know you'll lose more if you try to walk away," his voice wavered a little. 

"During the Siege, when the fight got bad, when so many good _verda_ were dying every day, seemingly against an enemy we could never beat on our own homeworld…it seemed like the end of us. Nearly everyone was ready to surrender, to give up," he turned to face her.

"Everyone except you, Bo-Katan."

She just blinked, not quite knowing what to say.

"You alone refused to give _Manda'yaim_ up for lost, and you alone made us believe that we could win again. You made everyone see that you had loyalties to all Mando'ade, _Kyr'tsad_ or not, that ran deeper in you than in anyone else. You were the first to turn against Maul-"

"Obviously," she spat at the very mention of the Sith, "that monster killed my _riddu- alor'ad_. I couldn't just let it stand that an outsider took advantage of our laws for his gain. It was a simple choice."

Fenn tutted.

"Simple to you, but half of Vizsla's own family couldn't do what you did. And you did more besides that - you chased that demon out of Sundari, away from Mandalore forever. You denounced the Empire before the Rebel Alliance was even a whisper in Mon Mothma's ear. Even in exile, you became famous across Mando space for never being caught or even being seen by half the people that Saxon and the Imperials paid to hunt you down. Without even trying, you became a symbol of a Mandalore free, of *all* worlds free of the Empire holding guns to their heads and calling it stability and safety."

"So what is your point, then?" she asked.

"My point is that all these chieftains, all their clans, and even the two _jetiise_ …they don't see a _Kyr'tsad chakaaryc_ , or someone who got driven out of Sundari's throne hall twice. They see a survivor, a true _Mand'alor_ in you, Bo-katan. I saw it at the Siege, and I still see it now," he paused for a breath, "and you need to see it too."

Bo-Katan sat still. It was a lot to take in, and she had to wait for a few moments, to let the words pour over her and sink in like rain into dry, cracked ground.

"So," she asked, quietly.

"What now?"

"Hrm?"

"Is this the part where you end it all by convincing me to sober up, get back out there, be the Mand'alor, and all my fears and inner demons will just drift away like smoke?"

"Well, not exactly," Fenn sighed. He brushed a few stray strands of greying copper hair back from where they'd fallen over his face. 

"The thing is, I never really learned how to silence my own fears. I can't lie to you, Bo-Katan - that fear of failing all those who put their trust in you to protect them? That never goes. But…"

He paused, staring up at the ceiling, as if he was looking for the right words to pull out of thin air.

"Just because you're the _Mand'alor_ , you don't have to face them alone, or keep company with a bottle. I'm here, bound by oath and by my own free will, and I won't leave you, so long as you need me here."

There was something so painfully open and honest in his tone, in his face. It made something in her own chest ache like a raw wound. Her mind raced - what could she even say to him? A simple "thank you" didn't seem like nearly enough in return. She needn't have worried, since Fenn was apparently a damn mind reader like the Wrens' _jettiise_ allies. 

"It's all right," he murmured, "you don't have to say anything. Just agree not to try and drink your troubles anymore, eh?" He reached out to her with one gauntleted hand, and reassuringly patted her shoulder. It would've been patronizing from anyone else, but from Fenn, the gesture only felt sincere

"I think I can try," she replied. Not really knowing why, she laid a hand on Fenn's arm, squeezing a little.

Fenn suddenly seemed reluctant to look her in the eye, and instead turned to look out the open ramp. She followed his gaze, and saw that the sky was changing, from inky black to dull grey-blue, getting lighter still every minute. Bo-Katan frowned. Had she really been out here for the whole night?

"Tell me, Bo-Katan," Fenn asked, "have you ever seen the sunrise on _Manda'yaim_ herself?"

She blinked. It was...an odd question to say the least. 

"I, uh. Not really. Even when I was living here…I never really had the time to watch, or I never cared to. Now, though?"

She thought it over for a moment.

"I think I can make the chieftains wait for their morning audience a while," she replied, "as they so often insist, I am the _Mand'alor_. I think I'm within my rights to take a moment and see what I've missed all these years."

Fenn chuckled a little, and nodded in agreement.

"Good call, _alor'ad_. Here," he shifted to the side, giving her space to move out of the corner she'd backed into. They re-settled themselves to sit facing the doorway, with their legs stretched out before them, nearly close enough to touch. The sky now turned from dark blue-grey, to light grey, to pale pink, to pale blue.

As the sky grew brighter, Bo-Katan found herself naming the stars and planets she knew under her breath as they blinked out of view, one by one - Mandallia. Tracyn. Akaan. Krownest. Ordo. They were her worlds to defend now, as much as they were those of the clans who called them home.

Then the first pale rays of light reached over the horizon, and out across the landscape, turning the sterile white sand dunes and harsh black cliffs into pale golden sculptures of themselves. Even the ancient orbital bombardment craters were gilded into huge shining bowls, that filled to the brim with shimmering light like the water filled the fountain basins in Sundari, far, far away.

As the sky lightened, a strange thing happened. She somehow felt her heart lighten with it, though she knew that nothing had really changed in the galaxy around her.

But something in _her_ had changed. Hope had begun to grow inside her, like a green shoot struggling up through dry soil - like the shoots that might one day struggle up through the dry soil of _Manda'yaim_ herself.

This was the world Bo-Katan was ruler of, now; broken, battered, battle-scarred - but surviving, enduring, and beautiful. The Empire might hold sway over her through the Saxons, but their power could be broken - and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could break it. With the clans united at her back, the Darksabre in her hand, and with Fenn Rau at her side, _Manda'yaim_ could be freed.

She _would_ be freed.

In the distance, she heard the faint trill of a _bes'bev_ , the clear notes sounding cheerful and bright as a birdsong. She let her eyes flicker shut as she listened.

"You know, I always liked that song," she sighed.

"I do, too," Fenn murmured under his breath, almost too quietly for her to hear. Something like a look of sadness flashed across his face, but only for an instant. He turned to face her, back straight, face back to the mask of the hardened, dedicated veteran.

"Do we wish to pay the player this compliment in person, _Mand'alor'ad_?"

Bo-Katan couldn't help but laugh at Fenn's sudden serious manner, and the overly-formal address.

"I think we shall, Protector Rau," she replied, a little too breathless to sound really as proper as he did. As she stood up, she extended a hand to Fenn. "So long as my Protector escort will follow?"

Smiling broadly, Fenn took her hand, and hauled himself to his feet.

"Always, _alor'ad._ "

Far away, the first brilliant sliver of the sun finally broke over the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Translations:
> 
> haryc b'aalyc = 'tired and emotional', more accurately, sad and drunk 
> 
> net'ra = Mandalorian stout, occasionally fortified
> 
> tihaar = Mando vodka
> 
> jaig'alaar = predatory bird
> 
> ca'senaar = 'nightbird'
> 
> bat'nor = drunk, wasted
> 
> dar'manda = state of not being Mandalorian, not a foreigner, but one who has lost their heritage and with that, their identity and their very soul. Regarded with absolute dread and hatred by most Mando'ade. 
> 
> Mand'alor = Sole Ruler, traditional title of monarch
> 
> jagyc'buir = father
> 
> buir = parent
> 
> alor'ad = commander, captain, boss etc. 
> 
> Manda'yaim = Mandalore
> 
> Kyr'tsad = Death Watch
> 
> verd/verda = warriors/soldiers, single and plural
> 
> chakaaryc = roughly 'scumbag' 
> 
> jettii/jettiise = Jedi, single and plural


End file.
